


The Dragon's Hoard

by teratorequests (bravelittletoreador)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dragons, F/F, POV Third Person, Terato, Teratophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 18:40:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16707922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravelittletoreador/pseuds/teratorequests
Summary: A request that got away from me!Angharad the Silver lectures her "sacrifice" Kore about the etiquette of courting a dragon





	The Dragon's Hoard

Afternoon streamed golden through the temple pillars that guarded the cave, and sparkled on the heaps of treasure that filled it. This was only a small portion of the hoard which filled the mountain, but was still an unimaginable heap of wealth. Kore, who lived in the village at the bottom of the mountain, sat on the edge of it, a massive book in her lap, ignoring the gold around her entirely.

“Amisdin of the Ivory Mountains saw Pamybris the Fair in battle against a rival in by the light of dawn and was moved. Amisdin gave of his hoard three golden goblets to Pamybris, for which her intended, Roseryn Prince of Air, was sorely wroth.”

Kore paused in her reading with a frown as the massive shape behind her chuckled low and deep in her vast silver throat. Angharad the Silver turned her head, the size of a cart, angular and crowned in a glory of gleaming horns, to train her sapphire eyes on Kore. The young woman, with her skin nut brown from days working in the field and her curtain of fine black hair, was as fine as any jewel in the dragon’s substantial hoard, especially when she frowned that way, making expressive little lines appear between her dark brows.

“Why have you stopped reading?” Angharad asked archly. “I don’t keep you around for nothing, mouse. Disappoint me and you could still make a convenient snack.”

It took willpower for Kore not to roll her eyes at Angharad’s threats, which came as easily to the dragon as breathing. She’d hardly spoken a sentence to Kore that did not include one since the day they were introduced. Angharad had lived in the mountain for hundreds of years and had defended the island chain and its villages all that time. She turned back dire storms, terrible monsters, pirates and foreign armies, and most critically other dragons. The only conditions of Angharad’s protection were that she claimed any treasure carried by the enemies she defeated (which the islanders didn’t mind, since they had a barter economy and no use for gems and gold) and secondly that she must always have companionship. Sometimes she chose a villager with a fine voice to sing for her, or some other talent that might keep her entertained. For the last few decades however she’d been in a nostalgic mood. Kore, and the companion before, had both been requested only to read from the massive and multitudinous volumes of draconic history which were a treasured part of Angharad’s hoard. The elegant tomes, bound in leather and copper plates and beautifully illuminated, had been written at the request of Angharad’s mentor Kalamatus by a series of his own human companions. Angharad had preserved the tradition long after she’d taken Kalamatus’s hoard and chased him off into obscurity, as was the way with dragons.

Kore did not mind being Angharad’s companion. It was an honored position among the island villages. Of the hundreds of villagers who’d served her over the years, Angharad had only ever killed three, and those three only for showing her grave disrespect, or trying to steal from her. Which was, to a dragon, the same thing.

Every child hoped they might one day be chosen to serve the dragon. The dragon’s companion lived in a fine house halfway up the mountain and was expected to do no other work but tend the dragon. Some leveraged the respected position to meddle in island politics, but Kore had never been interested in that. When the previous companion had retired, all the volunteers had gathered on the mountain to see who would be chosen next, and on what criteria. Some had brought all the paraphernalia of their various talents, hoping to show off their skill and be chosen. The villagers were all too happy to turn the occasion into an excuse for a festival, having the volunteers compete in various games and challenges that ultimately meant nothing. Because Angharad already knew what she wanted, and had brought one of the massive historical tomes along, ordering them to read passages from it. And then she’d chosen the one with the finest reading voice. Or at least, Kore assumed that was why she was chosen. She hadn’t thought she was the nicest voice there, but here she was.

In addition to being beautiful, the historical tomes were also ponderous to read and Kore was often lost in the minutia of dragon culture. The dragons were an incredibly long lived and preposterously deadly species. If two dragons fell to quarreling it could quickly end in death and destruction for them and everyone around them. They kept from killing one another by maintaining an incredibly intricate code of courtly manners and chivalric protocol. Kore was lucky when she could remember half the complicated rules involved just in one dragon greeting another. Luckily, Angharad was patient (for a dragon) and didn’t insist on her human companions keeping all the rules of dragon etiquette. Only the ones which directly applied to respecting her.

Still, even with all the weird dragon etiquette, Kore usually understood. This however did not make sense.

“Why did Amisdin give Pamybris a bunch of cups?” she asked Angharad, leaning back against the warm scales of the dragon’s stomach. “And why did that upset Roseryn? It says they went to war over it!”

War was no small thing to the nearly immortal dragons. Once war was declared there was no retreat until both dragons were dead. It was very rare to see war declared over what seemed so trivial an event.

Angharad huffed, breath like warm steam rolling over Kore’s shoulders.

“Pay attention, mouse,” she said. “What is a hoard to a dragon? I do not sit on all this wealth because I have bills to pay.”

“It’s status,” Kore said. “Legacy. I remember. But three cups?”

“You are still not paying enough attention,” Angharad shifted and Kore watched the cascade of gold from the pile beneath the dragon as she leaned over Kore’s shoulder to tap a claw against an earlier passage. “Should I add your bones to my collection? Focus, what was Pamabris, to great Amisdin, lord of an entire mountain range, thrice a widower?”

Kore was having some difficulty focusing with the dragon so close, leaning over her the way she was. She could feel the scales of Angharad’s throat against her back, soft as silk in one direction and razor sharp in the other.

“She… She was nothing,” Kore said with a shrug. “Before she became Roseryn’s intended she had no reputation at all. She didn’t even have a hoard yet.”

“Exactly,” Angharad purred, the sound rolling against Kore’s back. “Amisdin granted her a piece of his legacy that she might begin her own. It was a bold move, bolder because he most certainly knew of her engagement to Roseryn.”

“I thought mentors gave their hoards to their successors?” Kore said, confused.

“Give is a strong word,” Angharad said with a shrug. “A successors takes their mentor’s hoard when they’re strong enough, and the mentor too old to properly defend it any longer. It’s proof of the successor’s maturity, and prevents the full hoard from falling into the hands of enemies. But yes, the gift of a piece of their hoard is traditional when a dragon chooses to mentor another. What humans don’t understand that mentorships are often very… close relationships.”

The low, suggestive tone vibrated against Kore’s back.

“Not all, or even most, mentorships are anything but a simple teaching relationship, but it happens often enough to be considered a romantic notion. For a single dragon still of reproductive age to proposition a young, beautiful dragoness in such a way was unmistakably a romantic overture. He meant to steal her from Roseryn.”

“Oh,” Kore said, beginning to understand why it had sparked a war.

“More damning is the subtext,” Angharad went on. “Which suggests Pamybris accepted the offer. The particular wording, especially the bit about ‘in combat with a rival at dawn,’ is a not terribly subtle metaphor- It makes more sense in draconic. The implication is that Pamybris was pregnant with Amisdin’s young and, with the gift of the cups, he was attempting to, as you humans put it, make an honest dragon out of her. It was also a way to very publicly declare that he had, to return again to euphemism, conquered Prince Roseryn’s territory. Even if Pamybris had never lain with him, even if she didn’t accept the gift, the implication alone was enough to severely stain the Prince’s reputation. Amisdin meant it as the first volley in a rivalry. Respectful rivalries are a keystone of association between socially advantaged dragons. But Amisdin, despite his not inconsiderable power, was nowhere near the Prince’s equal. He intended to leverage a rivalry with the Prince to raise his own standing. He also made an incredibly poor choice of first moves. No doubt he thought to impress the Prince with his daring. The Prince instead called Amisdin’s bluff and declared war. If I remember correctly, she skinned the Lord of the Ivory mountains and gave his pelt to Pamybris, to begin her hoard in earnest.”

Kore shuddered.

“I suppose that’s kind of romantic, in a brutal way,” Kore said. “To give Pamybris the skin of the dragon that had shamed her. I mean, assuming Amisdin hadn’t actually knocked her up and he was just trying to embarrass the Prince.”

Angharad huffed and nudged Kore with her nose.

“Knocked her up? Really? Even if she was only a hoard-less drake barely out of her second skin you should show her more respect. Those who disrespect dragons are frequently eaten by them. And yes, it may have been romantic. Or it may have been a warning to an unfaithful partner. The Prince could not reject Pamybris at that point, not without tarnishing her reputation by admitting Amisdin had stolen from her. So she gives Pamybris the scales of her adulterous lover, which Pamybris now has no choice but to make a prominent part of her hoard, to stare at every day and remember her mistakes, and what will happen to her if she makes them again."

“Oof, less romantic.” Kore winced, looking up Angharad, who was looking down at her with a smile on her reptilian lips.

“Indeed,” she said. “But then, dragons are not known for being great romantics. Our courting rituals are fire and blood. Our mating flights end in death as often as not. We win our lovers by show of strength and cunning, and keep them by sinking in our teeth too deep for them to ever be torn from us.”

Kore looked up into those ferocious eyes, blue as the heart of a flame, and felt her heart flutter, intimidated as she was excited.

“That’s a shame,” she muttered, and saw surprise cross Angharad’s features.

“What is, mouse?” she asked.

Kore blushed, looking away.

“Well, it doesn’t leave much room for a human to impress a dragon, does it?” she said. “Humans can’t really hold up to fire and blood against a dragon. And I doubt my teeth could even bend one of your scales.”

“Th-that’s not completely accurate,” Angharad said, and Kore looked up in surprise. She’d never heard the dragon stammer. “The hero Melchior wooed the dragon Myrddin the Ancient with his feats of strength.”

“Well, yes, but he was part god,” Kore said pointedly. “For an average person like me, there’s no chance.”

“Well of course not,” Angharad said with a sniff, looking away with an arch of her long neck. “An average person could never be worthy of a dragon’s affections.”

“That’s what I thought,” Kore said, and couldn’t help a small sigh. “The sun is getting low, I should probably head home for the evening. Can I finish reading this to you tomorrow?”

“Oh if you must,” Angharad said, feigning disinterest. “You read so slowly we’ll both be ashes before you finish that volume anyway. An extra day hardly matters.”

“Thank you, Silver one,” Kore said, standing and replacing the tome on its stand before performing the elaborate bow Angharad’s status afforded her. She turned to leave them.

“Wait,” Angharad called. “Take this.”

Kore turned to see Angharad extending a claw towards her without looking. Three beautiful golden crowns hung from the tip.

“They’ve gone out of fashion,” Angharad said. “They were tacky things to begin with. I don’t want them cluttering up my collection anymore. You can keep them if you like, I don’t care.”

Angharad was looking firmly in the opposite direction. Kore didn’t think dragon’s could blush but the cave felt several degrees warmer than usual. Kore might have been a fool and mouse, but even she could put two and two together. She smiled and reached out to take the crowns, replacing them with a delicate kiss on the tip of Angharad’s claw.

“Thank you, Silver one,” she said respectfully. “They’re beautiful.”

“Gaudy nonsense,” Angharad said, drawing the claw Kore has kissed close to her chest. “But you might be able to start a proper hoard with it. Work quite hard, it might even grow large enough to impress a dragon.”

“I’ll do my best,” Kore agreed, heart racing, trying to hide the grin on her face. “There’s a dragon I’d very much like to impress.”


End file.
